Details at Eleven
by MeriTrells
Summary: My sister's a [female dog], details at eleven. A Mary Sue has come to Hogwarts story as told through the eyes of Mary Sue's little sister. Plenty of Mary Sue bashing, as well as an actual plot. Post HBP, canon. Rated T for language.
1. Summer and the first week

Dedicated to all who lost their lives, family members, or friends at Virginia Tech.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, please don't sue.

**A.N. This started out as a challenge between my friend and me over what it would be like to be Mary-Sue's little sister. We each went home and started writing. Originally it was supposed to be a semi-parody with a lot of Mary-Sue bashing. Corrie had other plans. There will still be Mary-Sue secrets exposed and some Mary-Sue bashing but that is no longer the focal point of the story. Now it's about how a fifteen-year-old, thrust into the middle of a war, reacts and adjusts. Pairings include Mara Suzanna and every guy she can get, vague mentions of Remus and Tonks, and eventual Hermione-Ron and Harry-Ginny romance. However romance is the focal point of Mara Suzanna's life, not Corrie's. If you have any ideas to make Mara Suzanna seem more Mary-Sueish I'm all ears. **

**Explanation on the names, according to behindthename dot com.  
**

**Mary Sue's name: "Felicity" Mara Suzanna Aaren Rainbow Catherine Haurvatat Corwin**

**AKA happiness/good luck, a variation of Mary, a variation/ unusual way to spell Sue, Masculine sounding female's name, unusual name, on that's not often chosen as a name, meaning Light, Name meaning Pure, unusual name meaning perfect. Included in there is my name/nickname/variation of my name, etc, and my friends name/nickname/variation of her name. She passes the Mary-Sue name test in basically every bracket. **

**Little Sister: Corrie Tacey Corwin **

**Means maiden, silent aka silent maiden. **

Hey Diary,

…Incase you were wondering I've been staring at you for the past four minutes straight, wondering what to write. Let's see you were given to me by my therapist to write out my feelings so that I can gain a deeper understanding of blah blah blah, I kind of tuned her out. So sue me.

Okay, it's been another three minutes and you're still pretty blank. Um, I'm supposed to write about how I'm feeling that Mom died. Sad, I feel sad. I'm guessing most people feel sad when their mother dies but then again I could be wrong. I doubt it but then again I'm not the one with the degree in psychology as my therapist constantly reminds me.

What else? I have an older sister who's seventeen. An adult. Whoopee! (Note, please insert ample amounts of sarcasm in those last few sentences. Well, they're not so much sentences as fragments and oh, just never mind.)

I'm a literary nerd. When I grow up I'd like to edit a newspaper, or run my own.

My dad died ages ago. I don't really miss him much anymore.

My favorite punctuation mark is the interrobang. It's a combination question mark and exclamation mark. Hardly anyone knows what it is, which is one of the reasons I like it.

My sister's name is Mara Suzanna. Mine is Corrie. Well, our full names are Mara Suzanna Aaren Rainbow Catherine Huarvatat Corwin and Corrie Tacey Corwin, but ever since Mom died Mara Suzanna's been going by Felicity, so she can remember Mom and what not. BS, complete BS, but I'm the only one who sees that. Yay me! Felicity was Mom's name, not Mara Suzanna's.

Dad named MS. Mom refused to let him name any more of her kids after he gave MS that monstrosity of a name. She only had one more kid, me, incase you didn't pick that up. She named me Corrie after one of her friends. Corrie works better with Jones then Corwin. Add into that the fact that I had to go to a speech specialist until I was nine because I couldn't pronounce my r's or s's and you can bet I was teased mercilessly through school.

Not Mara Suzanna. She got this gorgeous syrupy southern accent that has men falling at her feet. I stutter. I don't talk much. Go figure.

Oh, yeah, before I forget I should probably mention that my sister and I are both witches at Salem Institute for Witches and Wizards. My best friend there is Riley Christi Moore. We're both 15. MS is 17. She's friends with everybody, top of her class, hottest girl at the school, etc, etc, etc. She's on first name terms with the abortion clinic staff and probably has a few STDs. I'm a virgin. In fact, I haven't ever kissed a guy, or dated one or anything, because I am not popular, or anywhere close to popular. I have Peppermint Pattie's hair, from Snoopy. Mousy-blah I believe it was. MS did too, but she bleaches her's to this gorgeous blonde color with honey glaze highlights or something. And she wears blue contacts because neither of our eye colors is anything special. Our genes are designed for intelligence, not beauty. This means nobody notices me except for homework help, but MS is perfect, due to about ten thousand different beauty charms.

My gosh, I sound obsessed with her.

_**C**_orrie

-

Hello Again,

So, my therapist is pleased that I'm making a real effort to get in touch with my feelings in an attempt to do something that I wasn't paying attention to. Whatever.

MS is busy talking in French. She speaks it like a native. I can't even French kiss. Not that I've ever gotten the opportunity to test that, but still. Anyway, it's not my fault, after all we aren't French. We haven't a drop of French blood in us. We're half-Irish, half-English. I think that means we hate ourselves.

Yes, I'm joking; no I don't hate myself. Fortunately my therapist has promised not to read this. I made her put that in writing.

Anyway, not much else is going on around here. Well, that's a lie, a lot is going on, but as I have no say in practically all of it, it really doesn't matter that much to me, now does it? I mean, yes, it obviously does, but there's nothing I can do about it, so I don't know.

They're deciding where I'll live from now on. Riley offered her house but they're thinking of moving us, meaning MS and myself, to England. Dad's godfather's there. He runs a pub, which is such a good place to have kids. Note the sarcasm. Sorry, but I have absolutely no desire to live with Aberforth Dumbledore.

But seeing as how where I'll be living obviously doesn't concern me- Sometimes I just wish they'd let me live my own life.

**_C_**orrie

-

Hey Diary,

England sucks.

I hate my life.

MS now has a whole new country of boys drooling over her.

_**C**_orrie

-

_The Twenty-Second Day of August, 1997_

_Dear Corrie,_

_You do know you're supposed to put in the Dates when you write a diary. And, honestly, I'm not that bad, I can't help it if you're jealous. You make me sound like a slut. Oh, and you have a therapist for a reason, listen to her. And, seriously, "England sucks." How terribly creative. Plus, my name is FELICITY now. MS makes me sound like a drug. And my hair is like this naturally. Yours is worse then Peppermint Patties._

_Felicity Corwin_

-

Dear Bitch,

"Dates" shouldn't be capitalized. There should be a semi-colon after "bad" and another after "reason". "How terribly clever" is a sentence fragment. Your hair is not like that naturally; you are that bad. Stop starting your sentences with "and." "Then" should be "than" and there should be an apostrophe between the "e" and the "s" in "Peppermint Pattie's" because it's possessive.

_**C**_orrie

-

Diary,

Aberforth is weird. He has a goat fetish, I swear he really does. Frankly, it's creepy. The Hog's Head is the filthiest thing you have ever seen and there are roaches living happily in my bed. Every Tuesday we walk up to the nearby school to lay flowers on the grave of Dumbledore's brother. Aberforth lays a bag of sweets there every other Thursday. They're a Muggle sweet called Lemon Drops. Actually, seeing as we're in England now, they're Sherbet Lemons.

There's a lady with bubblegum-pink hair talking at the bar. You get the oddest people here.

Before I forget, the school's name is Hogwarts and we'll be going there next year, provided it reopens. Apparently one of the teachers, Snake or something, murdered the headmaster last year. It really makes you feel safe to hear things like that.

I want to go home.

_**C**_orrie

-

From now on I'm not putting a heading between entries. You know who you are. For that matter I'm not going to sign my name at the end. I know who I am. Besides, _you_ are an inanimate object; you don't care.

Riley owled. She says she misses me. I asked if she would shelter me if I were a fugitive from justice. She said yes, but I was to burn all letters between us so there would be no evidence if the courts ever came after her. That can be easily done, so we're concocting a plan where I kill MS, who I will not call "Felicity", then flee to America. Currently, Riley votes poison; I say I should stab her when she's asleep. Mess up her perfect looks, and all that.

We, meaning Aberforth, MS, and I, went out shopping for our Hogwarts supplies today. Apparently History of Magic isn't optional at Hogwarts and there isn't a school newspaper. Why did we leave Salem again?

The new headmistress is coming to talk to us tomorrow. I'll ask her if I can start a newspaper. School starts the day after tomorrow.

-

She said yes! Wow, that looks like I popped the question. But seriously, the headmistress, Mc-something or other, said I could start a school newspaper at Hogwarts. First copy of the Hogwarts Herald will be sent out September 2nd, at breakfast. The Headline is that Hogwarts has reopened, but there's also an article on the two new transfer students (guess who), a guide (from the teachers, for new students), an article on each new teacher, and a plea for newspaper staff members. MS is not helping with this. However, Riley is our foreign correspondent.

I'm so happy I could sing.

-

Pasted in for your convenience:

"_Hogwarts Reopens!_

_"After much controversy over the safety and security of pupils attending Hogwarts, it was decided, in a seven to five vote among school governors, that Hogwarts would reopen for the '97-'98 school year. However extra levels of protection have been added, including two Auror teachers, a strict curfew, and rumours of never before seen defensive spells. (For more information on the new teachers see New Teachers, page 2. For more on the added defensive measures see For Your Protection, page 3.)_

_"Said Madam Malkin, 'Well, it's a blessing to us of course, seeing as half my business is for Hogwarts robes, but still… Well, you just hope the Ministry knows what it's doing. Mind you, _I_ have no children going there myself, so it's easier for me to give my approval.'_

_"Similar opinions were echoed throughout Hogsmeade, along with many concerns that the Ministry was not doing enough to keep students 'Truly safe.' However, as Mr. Aberforth Dumbledore points out, 'We're at war, course they ain't (__sic) safe. No where's safe.' He adds, 'Hogwarts is a good bit safer than elsewhere, though.'_

_"Indeed it is, especially with these new safety measures. Perhaps, then, the question now is how many parents will feel this way? How many students will return?_

_**C**_orrie _**C**_orwin"

-

What do you think? It's not my best, I know, but nobody was willing to proofread it for me. I miss my journalism class; they don't offer things like that as electives here. Plus, I'm cramming nightly because I need to learn all of British Wizarding History in less than a year. MS doesn't have to take it because she's NEWT level, but it's required for me, seeing as I'm only OWL. Who cares about Weldin no wait, who was it again? Somebody the Weird. Wendelin the Weird. (I looked it up. MS got straight O's; I'm not going to let her beat me.)

The new teachers are Professor Tonks, for Transfiguration, and Professor Dawlish, for DADA. Professor Tonks is pretty cool; she gave me a nice long interview. Professor Dawlish is something of a stick in the mud, but he was willing to answer a few questions. He walked out when I asked him about the supposed curse. Professor Tonks was willing to morph a bit for me; she's a Metamorphamagus. I hope I spelled that correctly. Oh, Merlin, I'm going to fail my OWL's. Ah well, at least I'll fail with good grammar.

-

I am now writing to you from inside the Ravenclaw Common Room. Yep, I got into the house for brilliance and a thirst for knowledge. Best of all, MS is in Gryffindor. Abby Chambers, Sara Walters, Patricia Edgecombe, and Kate and Jo Turpin are rather nice, but slightly cliquish. I'm sure they don't mean to be; it's just they've known each other for four whole years already. Kate and Jo, short for Kathryn and Joanna, have an older sister named Lisa in our house. Abby's a chaser for the house team. Padma Patil, the new head girl, is also in our house. She's really nice and offered to help me study History of Magic.

It's getting kind of late but I want to tell you about this evening before I forget. MS spent an hour doing her hair and we almost missed the Hogwart's Express. After running through the barrier between platforms nine and ten we arrived at platform nine and three quarters. I stowed away in an empty compartment; MS went off in search of boy-toys. Sorry, I meant MS went off to make friends. I heard her talking to one guy, claiming to be the descendant of one of the Hogwarts founders. That story got a much bigger reaction here than it ever did in Salem. She claimed not to know which, but said she suspected it was Gryffindor.

Actually, we are related to Hufflepuff, but only illegitimately.

Then she said she was Dumbledore's granddaughter. Well, in a way, I guess, we are Dumbledore's god-grandchildren. Only, I think the boy thought she was referring to Albus Dumbledore, instead of Aberforth. I just chuckled into _Hogwarts, A History_.

At the train station all the returning students scrambled into thestral-drawn carriages, while the newbies got led by a half-giant over a lake, the scenic route to Hogwarts. MS and I had already seen it, of course, laying flowers on the white tomb and interviewing the teachers, but the sight of Hogwarts, standing proud and tall before us as we rounded a bend, was one I'll carry with me to the grave. That sentence is confusing; perhaps a few of those commas should be interrupters. …seen it, of course—laying…teachers—but…

Eh, I'm tired; my brain's a mess. Suffice to say we joined the first years to be sorted, everyone drooled over MS as if she were a veela in heat, and there's a girl with blue eyes and blonde hair staring at me. I'm creeped out now, good-night.

-

Notes on Hogwarts:

Creepy girl's name is Luna Lovegood and she was the first volunteer for my newspaper. She says her father runs the Quibbler and lent me a copy of it (the Quibbler) so I could get a sense of her writing style. (Her dad lets her run a column on new creatures.)

There's a guy, a seventh year, named Stephen Cornfoot, who is, I swear, a Greek god. MS is chatting him up, which isn't fair as he's in _my_ house not hers. She has that Neville Longbottom bloke.

Abby's a Muggle-born, so is Sara. Their parents don't know what's going on. Kate and Jo were only allowed back because it's OWL year and their older sister, Lisa, is here to keep an eye on them. Actually Ravenclaw is currently the largest house; nothing will stand between us and our education.

History of Magic is first on Mondays. Professor Binns has the most monotone voice in the world. I think I'll learn more on my own, although I'd like to interview him on what it's like to teach after death. Is this his own, private hell? What does he do with his salary? Is he even aware he's dead?

The girl next to me in HoM is asleep. She's a Gryffindor and has the words Mrs. Romilda Potter all over her paper. It's a bit frightening.

Professor Tonks is the coolest teacher ever, but not the most structured. She tripped coming into class and a stack of paper went flying everywhere. I wonder if it's because she's a Metamorphamagus. Is she less familiar, due to constant morphing of the size of her limbs and such, with the limits of her own body? For example, teenagers have a tendency to be clumsier because our bodies are growing and changing faster than our minds can process.

Three rolls of parchment and one missed lunch later and I'm free to work on Trans. Homework this evening as my Giant Wars essay is (finally) finished.

OWL's are scary.

Hogwarts is big, enormous, and easy to get lost in. Do you know where Charms is?

Professor Flitwick is really understanding when you burst into Charms twenty minutes late.

MS and Stephen are currently making out in the corridor behind me. I feel like crying. Is today over yet?

Luna is contacting the owners of WWW to see if they'll fund our newspaper if they get ad space. I hope they will; I only got five galleons from Honeydukes to run a year's worth of paper on.

Astronomy is way too late at night and the stars are somewhat different. When will this day be over?

-

Newspaper staff: Corrie Corwin, Editor-in-chief and the majority of the articles

Su Li, Gossip columnist

Zacharias Smith, Sports

Luna Lovegood, Ads and Horoscopes

Riley Moore, Foreign Correspondent

Why don't they teach English at Hogwarts? We're doomed.

-

_Corrie,_

_Just an idea but I think we should do some article on how the Hogsmeade businesses are reacting to the fact that now only fifth years can visit the village because my little sister wants to go._

_What do you think,_

_Su._

-

I think there should be a question mark after "think" and that she could have divided that into three sentences. I owled back my approval and commended her on the idea.

-

Parvati Patil, Padma's sister, and Lavender Brown want to run an advice column. That makes our total staff seven members strong. Let's hope lucky number seven isn't just an expression.

-

Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom are starting something called the "DA." I think I may join, to hone in my defensive skills before the OWL's.

-

Excerpt from the _Daily Prophet_:

"_87 Muggles Dead in Death Eater Attack on London!!!_"

-

Voldemort is a lot scarier in Britain.People are dying left and right, and suddenly I'm really scared for MS. She's my sister, after all, and she's not one to sit back quietly and stay safe. I thrive in the shadows of semi-obscurity; she dies in them. She's going to go out there and get herself killed if she's not careful. She's a pain in the ass, but she's still my sister, and I love her.

-

I had a rather interesting conversation at lunch. A girl named Jenny or something was bashing my sister to Luna. She didn't realize that I could hear. Anyway, she went on and on about how MS is such a "Scarlet Woman, wrapping herself around anything and everything that moves," and then she saw me. She turned as red as her hair, which is extremely red, and started mumbling apologizes.

I just shrugged and said something like, "My sister's a bitch, details at eleven." She got all confused and I had to explain that it was a Muggle term used a lot in news casting and that back at Salem we were required to watch a plethora of ways to deliver news.

On a side note, they liked the phrase and are starting to adapt it.

-

It's been a long week, diary. Thank Merlin for the weekends.

-

Gryffindor had Quidditch try-outs for a keeper, chaser, seeker, and beater. MS is trying out for seeker or chaser. She can't seek; her eye-sight is terrible. Actually, neither of us has ever played Quidditch before; Salem had an intramural team but it wasn't that big. I'd like to watch but Padma agreed to tutor me this afternoon and I should probably finish my Defense homework.

-

Five signs to identify a werewolf, why do we need to know this? If I run into a rabid wolf on the full moon I'm going to run instead of checking to see if it has a tufted tail. Of course, this is just review. According to Sara their DADA teacher first year _was_ a werewolf, and their DADA teacher third year taught them how to kill werewolves for two weeks straight. Well, Sara says she taught them how to do it in theory.

Riley wrote to say that everyone at Salem misses us and Mrs. C, who runs the newspaper, was wondering if I'd like to send a few copies of the Hogwarts Herald to Salem. I would!

PS, the first bit translates to everyone at Salem misses MS and the newspaper staff misses me. I'm not bothered; really I'm not. Actually, I'm thrilled to have the friends I do have because mine are loyal to me. Riley writes daily, practically. Andy Gates writes once a week. (Andy's my second best friend. He's dating Riley, and has been for the past two years.)

-

History of Magic is interesting when Binns doesn't teach it. There are about fifty goblins wars, but once I get those straight, if I get those straight, I'll have Britain's history down. Yay, I feel accomplished. And exhausted, it's two in the morning. I'm sleeping late tomorrow.

-

"There" is for location purposes and such, as in "here, there, and everywhere, there are grammar mistakes." "Their" is the possessive for of they. "They're" is a contraction of they are. Actually it is _the_ contraction of they are, _there_ isn't any other. Oh, and while we're on the subject "its" is possessive; "it's" is the contraction of it is. _It's_ not that hard.

Spent today working on the Hogwarts Herald and then on homework. HH is scheduled to go out tomorrow; there's a Gryffindor named Colin Creevy who's providing photographs and helping us print the stupid piece of junk. I barely remembered to send a few copies to Salem. It took a few hours to just proofread everything and remember that odor is now odour. Stupid British, why can't they speak English correctly?

Why did Webster have to standardize spelling? No, I take that back; I'm happy we have a standardized way to spell words. I just wish it were the same in every country.

On a random note, Professor Tonks wasn't there when I went to interview her about Metamorphamagi. There's a rumor she's dating the professor from what would have been my first year. Of course, there's also a rumor that Harry Potter actually is going to Hogwarts this year and that Dawlish is Harry Potter under polyjuice potion and that Hermione Granger, one of Harry Potter's friends, didn't come back to Hogwarts because Padma was named Head Girl. Padma says she only got the position because Hermione Granger hadn't come back. There's another rumor that Hermione Granger is pregnant with Harry Potter's child. A girl named Ginny Weasley, whose name isn't Jenny, is doing her best to stop this rumor. Luna says Ginny used to date Harry.

I sound like Su. No worse, I sound like Parvati and Lavender. You don't need to listen to the mind-numbing mass of misinformed mutterings from the mindless multitude and I'd best to be quick to bed because, when I'm bushed, I always alliterating automatically, and it's annoying. Ah, I'm already doing it, again; I apologize. Anyway, so ends the first weekend, I wish next week would be a bit better.

-

Pasted in is my editorial for the Hogwarts Herald:

"_Speak up; speak out._

_"I was reading the _Daily Prophet_ Thursday at breakfast; I'm sure most of the school was as well. I'm sure the entire school noticed the headline, screaming out '87 Muggles Dead in Death Eater Attack on London_._' The article went on to warn the wizarding world of how close the attack was to Diagon Alley, St. Mungo's, and The Ministry of Magic._

_"Did it mention how close it was to a nursery school? No, well let me tell you. It was on the same street as 'Bright Horizons,' a quality childcare establishment for those between the ages of two and five. In fact, Bright Horizons was one of the buildings attacked, leading to the slaughter of 27 children under the age of six. Shall I tell you about Alanna Beth or her sister Anne-Marie, both found tortured to death in the playroom? There was a tea-set nearby, all laid out and ready for a tea party. How about Daniel, who, according to the Muggle news people at _BBC_, was found 'in front of his two-year old sister Brooke' in 'an almost defensive manner' with an expression 'that suggests fear or concern'? I'll spare you the details about the state his body was in, as it almost made me physically ill._

_"These are not nameless people; they are someone's sisters and brothers, some poor mother's sons and daughters. Some parent kissed their child goodbye in the morning, and then later got a call that there had been a carbon-monoxide (a clear, odourless, and fatal gas) leak; their little princess was dead. One mother talked about how every morning she filled her children's cubbies up with kisses, so if they missed her during the day they could take one out. The bodies of her children, ages 2, 3, and 5, were found outside the cubby area. At least they had their mother's love nearby in their final moments._

_"The problem with reporting is that it is so easy to simply say that 87 Muggles died. After all, there are a lot of Muggles. Yes, it's sad when they die, but they're only Muggles. We don't care about them; their deaths aren't real to us. And as long as we think that way we're as bad as Voldemort, unconsciously elevating ourselves above all non-magical folk to the point where, dead or alive, they don't matter. So from now on, whenever there's a tragedy the _Herald_ will list the information on _all_ involved, Muggle or magic. Because we're all human; we're all equal._

_"Let's not forget those without a voice, simply because they aren't us. As Pastor Martin Niemöller wrote about the Nazi invasion in WWII, 'First they came for the Communists, and I didn't speak up/because I wasn't a Communist. /Then they came for the Jews, and I didn't speak up/because I wasn't a Jew. /Then they came for the Catholics, and I didn't speak up/because I was a Protestant. /Then they came for me, and by that time there was no one left /to speak up for me.' (_Time_ magazine, August 28, 1989). Speak up; speak out, and for Merlin's sake, **care.**_

_**C**_orrie _**C**_orwin"


	2. Week two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; I'll let you know if that changes.**

**A.N. There will be a bit of a break between this and the next chapter as I need to study for AP's. Sorry. Also, many thanks to NickyFox13 for her suggestions to make M.S. more Mary Sue-ish. I've tried to incorporate them into this chapter, and will continue to do so. Also in this chapter is our introduction to Harry Potter, who is skipping this year of school and thus being a bad example for millions! **

I'm in HoM again, and it hasn't gotten any better. Actually a couple people are reading the _Hogwarts Herald_ in class. The Harry Potter obsessed girl who sits next to me has the "Gossip Gal" page open. She already read the advice column.

Some Gryffindor in the back of the class is enchanting things to go through Professor Binns. So far he's gotten a quill through the professor's mouth and a wad of paper through his nose. Professor Binns has yet to notice. It's vaguely amusing.

I'm currently scanning Muggle newspapers for news on the victims. It's rather difficult to interview Muggles when you aren't allowed out of Hogwarts. Actually, it's rather difficult to interview anyone when you aren't allowed out of Hogwarts.

-

Sara asked me, in the oddest voice today, if I felt alright. It was most peculiar. All of a sudden everyone seems to be walking on eggshells around me. Abby told me she was "here if you ever need to talk, Corrie. Okay? Are you alright? You sure?" Seriously, it's bizarre and exasperating.

-

Luna asked me if I was feeling alright and told me she knew what I was going through as she'd lost her mother. Seriously, she doesn't know what I'm going through, as losing someone is different to every person. But anyway, why is she telling me this?

-

Padma's acting just as strange as everyone else. I'm on my way to Professor McGonagall's office for some weird reason. Everything's peculiar lately.

I didn't do anything; I swear. Maybe it was about my editorial, but why would that make everyone ask me how I'm feeling. Seriously, if somebody says "Are you feeling okay?" again, I'll scream.

-

I screamed, which upon reflection probably wasn't the best idea as it was Professor McGonagall who asked the question. Actually her face was somewhat amusing, apparently people don't often scream for forty-some seconds straight in front of her. I would have gone longer but I needed to breathe.

You're probably confused. Well, not really, because you, as we've already established, are an inanimate object, and therefore incapable of feeling confusion. Anyway, the conversation went something like this:

Me: "Pr-Professor McGonagall? Y-you-you asked to s-see me."

The professor: "Ah, yes, Corrie, sit down. Now, how are you feeling?"

Me: "AHHH!"

Her: "…"

Me: "AHHH!"

Her: "…"

Me: "AHH-F-Fine, thank-you, w-why?"

Apparently everyone at Hogwarts is worried about me and is there if I ever need to talk. Seriously, I didn't do anything. I'm not the only person to have lost somebody. Why are they signaling me out?

-

Interesting Conversation today, take two:

Luna: Hi, Corrie. How are you feeling today?

Me: W-why-why is everyone a-asking me that today? D-d-do I look p-par-particularly upset.

Luna: Well, right now, yes. Did you see any aquanimes?

Me: Wh-what?

Luna: They force people's brains to shut down and direct them towards self violence. Don't worry though, they're scared of radishes.

Me: S-S-Self violence?

Luna: Your suicide attempt, your sister was telling us all about it.

Me: … W-wait, wh-what?

Luna, tilts head to an angle and speaks slowly: When you slit your wrists last summer and your sister saved your life…

Me, finally realizing what MS is doing: "Th-th-that thupid, thlutty, thkank, th-thayth I'm thuithidal, th-the-the thneakth and thpieth and lieth!" I count to ten, then twenty, then thirty. Then I start over using only prime numbers. It doesn't help.

(Translation: That stupid, slutty, skank, says I'm suicidal, she sneaks and spies and lies!)

Luna: Did you realize you don't speak very clearly sometimes, especially when you look mad.

-

I should have guessed. The sudden concern is due to my _delightful_ sister, MS. Besides my conversation with Luna, I overheard her sobbing onto some sympathetic shoulder, the slut. It's stupid; the slag's "surreptitiously" spilling, no creating, constructing completely fictitious falsities of some fake, fictional personal life for me, and then, the bitch is blabbing bits of it to basically every single stranger she shags or just sees. I'm already alliterating.

S-I-S-O-I-N-O-K-O-N-A-C-L-O-V-O-C-I-L-I-S-C-I-P-O-C-S-O-R-C-I-M-A-R-T-L-U-O-N-O-M-U-E-N-P. Okay, I'm slightly better.

The bitch was crying about how worried she was about me and telling everyone at Hogwarts about "my moment of stupidity this summer." That's what she calls it at least. I don't call it anything, because it never happened.

Her story: Two days after Mom died I, meaning me, Corrie, took a knife and drew a nice line from my wrists to my elbows. After about three seconds I remembered that I like life and don't want to die. Fortunately, my courageous, brave, self-less sister found me in time. I got a therapist but understandably my concerned, caring, considerate, elder sister is still dreadfully worried I might relapse.

She's joking about suicide. That's not something you joke about, or treat lightly, or make-up stories about to gain sympathy or increase your public image. People _kill_ themselves, and I, for one, don't find death something worth joking about. Especially not suicide; there are people out there so hopeless they actually do try to kill themselves. It's not an issue to ignore; it's an issue of life or death for some. Nobody should make light of it, not matter what their intent.

S-I-S-O-I-N-O-K-O-N-A-C-L-O-V-O-C-I-L-I-S-C-I-P-O-C-S-O-R-C-I-M-A-R-T-L-U-O-N-O-M-U-E-N-P. I'm still not okay. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-This isn't working. How can somebody, anybody, make light on suicide? Time for prime numbers, 2-3-5-7-11-13-17-19-23-29-31-37-41-43-47-53-59-61-67-71-73-79-83-89-97-101-103-107-109-113-127-131-137-139-149-151-157-163-167-173-179-181-191-193-197-199-211-223-227-229-233-239-241-251-257-263-269-271-277-281-283-293-307 I'm better now, or at least calmer.

Want to know why I have a therapist? I have a therapist because I don't talk and after MS went through her "Goth phase" Mom was taking no chances.

And even if I had decided to try and commit suicide MS wouldn't have been able to save me. She spent the summer being "comforted" at various guys' houses, usually in their beds. Although, she may have "comforted" on the couch or floor, according to the gossip she's not picky.

The clincher was the line "I'm just so worried and I can't help feeling that this is somehow my fault. I don't know what to do."

To which, invariably the response is "Oh, no, don't think that. Never think that. You're a hero; you saved your sister's life. You're so brave, Felicity, and anyone would feel honored to have you as a sister…"

He's right, I feel so honored, so privileged, so flattered to have a sister who will spill false personal info all over Hogwarts. I mean, say I had been suicidal, of course I'd want the skeletons in my closet out there for the world to see. Seriously, the one time I was starting to be semi-popular, due to my paper, she has to go and ruin it for me. I feel so damned honored.

-

I'll be lucky to get an A in HoM.

Life sucks, but guess what, I'm not suicidal! So shut-up, MS, you damn bitch!

-

It's a stupid jab you need for _Silenco_. I hate today.

-

Ginny Weasley came up to say she liked my editorial. She was acting all cautious around me, but it was still nice to hear.

-

Pasted in for your convenience, a letter from Riley:

_Dear Corrie,_

_How are you? I was sorry to hear about that latest round of attacks; we're all worried about you back in the good ol' U.S. of A. Seriously, I hope you and Mara Slut-anna are okay, and stay safe. I must warn you, if you die I'll never speak to you again. _

_Mrs. C's going to be writing you soon. Don't believe a word she says; she raves over your paper every class and bemoans your proofreading skills every edition. Actually she wants to know if you'll be our correspondent, like I'm yours. No, she is not making me write this, and no, I'm not making this up. You'll have your own column, "Eyes in England" or something. So, she doesn't have your gift for alliteration, but we already knew that. _

_Now, on to a serious question, one you __will__ answer. After all, you're practically in France so you should be able to figure this out easily, right? Tell Andy that France is in the Eastern Hemisphere._

_**It is not. It's a Western Civilization, Riley, **__**western**_

_Yes, but it's __in__ the Eastern hemisphere. Otherwise why would we have the Monroe Doctrine? Remember, the whole "you-stay-out-of-our-hemisphere-and-we'll-stay-out-of-yours" thing. _

_**Because Monroe didn't have any real power so he passed decrees such as the aforementioned to give himself a (false) sense of power. Anyhow, that's not the exact wording.**_

_No shit, Sherlock. Corrie, answer us now! And "It's in the Northern Hemisphere" is __not__ an acceptable reply. _

_**Love you loads, but only platonically so you can stop looking at me like that Riley,**_

_Riley Moore_

_**And her better half, OW! I was only joking.**_

_And Andy the a-_

_**Profanity isn't necessary! Now, apologize. **_

_Fine, sorry about the slur against your sister, Corrie. _

_**That wasn't what I-**_

_I know! And good news, there is a cure! The guys at this school are becoming more committed and faithful, so as long as Mara Suzanna is away for a decent sized period, her hold on them diminishes to minute amounts. Seriously, it has a rather short half-life. _

I checked. France is in both the Eastern and Western Hemispheres, but it's more in the Eastern Hemisphere than the Western Hemisphere. Score one for the females.

Mrs. C did write, full of constructive criticism. I think she has a rule about not being expansive with the praise in front of the people who wrote whatever article is in question. I do, however, feel vindicated that she misses my proofreading. Everyone calls me obsessive, but, you know what, it _works_.

-

Mr. and Mrs. Turpin were killed last night. Lisa, Kate, and Jo are devastated. Kate and Jo got the news in Potions. I haven't seen them since.

-

Pasted in for your convenience, the beginning of a letter from my therapist:

_Dear Corrie,_

_I believe the problem here is low self-esteem. Try writing a list of things you like about yourself, and another of things you dislike. Than we will know what to work on, and help you better address your problems. Don't expect perfection from yourself, don't compare yourself to others. Just do what is right for _you_. Remember, you have a lot of good traits, concentrate on those. _

My response included asking her if she's ever heard of a semi-colon. In the first paragraph alone she should have used one between "yourself" and "don't", and between "traits" and "concentrate". Plus, "than" should be "then". I told her it was a wonderful draft and that with these few, minor changes; it would become an excellent final copy.

Her response was slightly snippety, claiming I focus on grammatical and technical errors as a constant, instead of dealing with my problems. My response ran along the lines of "I thought dealing with my problems was your job, or why do we pay you?" I don't think she liked that.

-

"Things" I like about myself:

I rarely use words as vague as "things".

I can think off several words that would be more specific than "things," such as "aspects."

I have the best friends in the universe.

I hardly ever settle with others, and I never settle with myself. I proofread my diary, for Merlin's sake, that has to count for something.

I don't need a man to make me complete. cough MS cough

My acne's not so bad is you're near sighted and you don't have your glasses.

I know grammar, punctuation, and spelling better than anyone I know.

I can spell pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis backwards. Actually, the fact that I can spell it forwards is something to be proud of too, I guess.

I like more than five things about myself.

-

"Things" I dislike about myself:

I'm an orphan.

I'm not an only child.

I couldn't get a guy if my life depended on it.

I slip up my s's and r's when I'm angry.

I alliterate uncontrollably when I'm tired or angry.

I can't speak any language besides English.

I'm a perfectionist.

I got an A on my last HoM grade.

The Hogwarts Herald is pathetic, both in its content and its lack of content.

I stutter.

I have acne.

I've started way too many sentences with "I", meaning I'm uncreative and egotistical.

My only friends are thousands of miles away.

No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I will _never_ measure up to my sister.

Pretend I didn't write that last bit. Besides, I'm a better person then she is, right?

-

I'm going to a teacher; these rumors have to stop. I don't want to get my sister in trouble, but saying I'm suicidal is too far.

She shouldn't joke about suicide, especially after her second year.

-

Hogwarts needs to teach English! Seriously, at Salem we had to take at least one year of some type of English class. I chose four years of journalism, and was then brutally ripped away. MS took a year of poetry her second year. I have some of her old, angsty, (crappy) poems.

But that's off topic. Anyway, in America there are these terrible test called Standards Of Wizardry (SOW's) that you have to pass every year. These tests are designed by trolls with below average intelligence. You can pass advance by playing the game "which one of these things doesn't match?" Or you can pass perfect by studying obsessively. I study obsessively.

Besides an English course we take a year of Math, or more if you care. Few people choose this option, so the Geometry course is through owls. Our Math attempts to get us through basic algebra. If 2x6, x3. Yay, I feel like Einstein. As for History, it is either a two-year or five-year course that teaches both Muggle and magical American history. I took the five year option for that and had very little free time. The final option that's special is the Muggle Studies class. It's a year long and mandatory. You can choose from any number of things that Muggles actually study, such as Muggle Literature or Muggle Science. MS and I took Muggle Lit.

There are also optional foreign languages: French, Latin, Spanish, and Japanese. The latter is the most popular.

Perhaps the best aspect of American Education is that the teachers have to take you into their NEWT classes if you got an A on your OWLs. At Hogwarts some teachers demand an O for entry into NEWT level. I don't know of any currently, but I heard there was one a few years ago. Nobody likes to talk about it though.

It really doesn't matter, anyhow, as I am _going_ to get straight O's. I have to.

-

Another weekend has come. We have a new newsroom to use, across from a picture of trolls in Tutus. There are even ways to watch Muggle news-stations in there, as well as machines that can print twenty copies a minute. It's incredible, amazing, and quite frankly "bloody well awesome," as Su said. Luna suggested it; she calls it the Room of Requirements. I call it a miracle.

-

I will tell a teacher about MS. I swear I will, eventually. I mean, it's only been a few days. Oh, who am I kidding, I don't have any guts, whatsoever. I doubt I'll ever work up the courage to tattle.

-

MS has changed the story of the day. Now that it's Friday, Monday's story is outdated. Now she's showing everyone her battle wounds, "accidentally."

She doesn't have battle wounds; she has scars from her days climbing trees, before she went to Hogwarts. Actually MS used to be very cool. I called her Anna, because it was the part of her name I could pronounce without difficulty. She'd make sure none of the other kids picked on me where she could see. She was almost expelled once in elementary school for fighting when she heard Stephen Clarkes deride my feeble "C-Co-Cowwie C-Cowwin." I think the name "Co-Co," later changed to "Cow-Cow," got to her, because Clarkes was the school bully. He gave Anna two black eyes, a split lip, and a visit from the tooth fairy. She gave him free birth control for life.

Anna had the bottom bunk when we were little, because I was scared of the monster under the bed. I had the top bunk, because Anna was scared of the dark and needed something above her at night. Anna could climb trees higher than anyone else in our neighborhood; she'd climb up in the fall to plunk the exact leaf I wanted. In spring we'd braid flowers in our hair and pretend we were fairies. In winter we'd imagine what it would be like to have snow come down and coat our neighborhood. It never snowed; we lived in South Carolina, Myrtle Beach area.

Every summer we'd burry Mom in sand on Saturdays, then run off and build sand people. I'd lie on the beach and Anna would trace my outline, then we would fill it with sand to make a 3-D mermaid, caught up on the beach. We'd decorate her with seashells and seaweed. Anna would tell the most fantastic stories about our merwomen.

She'd read to me almost everyday. I believe that's how I learned to read, just watching Anna trace her finger along the words as she read them aloud to me. We'd build forts in the living room to reenact our favorite scenes. One summer we built Fairyland with the pillows and we wouldn't let Mom take it down until Halloween.

Everyday I went to sleep knowing I had the best big sister in the world and praying that someday I'd be just like her.

Then Anna went off to school.

Lunch is over; I better get to class. Now where is Arithmancy again?

-

I've corrected the entire newspaper staff's belief that I am suicidal, as well as squashed the rumor among my dormitory. The rest can go suck on it for all I care.

-

Kate and Jo wrote to say they'd be returning Monday. I hope they're okay.

-

Pasted in for your convenience, excerpt from the Daily Prophet:

"_Rumors of a New Curse Confirmed by St. Mungos Healers_

"_Rumors of a new, advanced acidic charm were confirmed today by St. Mungos employees. This new curse apparently eats away at flesh, wherever it hits. If there's nothing organic (living) to burn through the hex is harmless. However should the curse strike any living material it will begin a long and painful process of eating away at said living material, until it is no more. It takes about one hour to eat through an entire human body, when hit in the ankle. The recommended cure is to simply amputate if at all possible. _

"_Said a healer who wishes to remain anonymous, 'We've had 'bout ten, twenty cases so far. That's seven or so missing arms, five missing legs, and few more missing lives. Lot of aurors look a bit more like Mad-Eye now, 'cept for with out the mad eye.'_

"_Indeed the already diminishing auror force has been hit hard of late (continued under __**Acid**__, page 3. For Counter-cures and Antidotes see __**Cures**__, page 6 or __**Why you should have paid attention in Defense Class**__, on page 17.)_

Thanks, DP, because we really didn't have enough to worry about.

-

Apparently there's something called The Slug Club, because I've been invited to it. Oh, and First DA meeting is Saturday at 3. Wait, that's in fifteen minutes. Where's the Room of Requirements again?

-

I burst into DA twenty minutes late. I had every head turn and face me. I had every set of eyes concentrate n me, every mind form the thought of "hey, it's the suicidal girl." Then, I turned and fled. I'm now hiding in an empty classroom, waiting for Luna to stop looking for me so I can die from embarrassment in peace.

-

Pasted in for your convenience, one of MS's old poems:

_Roses are Red_

_Violets are blue_

_You think you know_

_But you have no clue._

Wow, that was bad. I mean, to start off it needs punctuation. And roses are red, as well as white, pink, and yellow, and those are just Muggle roses. Plus, violets are violet. That's why they're called violets. You don't call an orange an orange because it's red, or say "eat your greens" because what they're supposed to be eating is yellow. Well, maybe with celery, but that's about it. Look, I'm sorry for pasting that in you diary; I promise to never do it again.

And now I feel like a fool because I just wasted a few minutes waiting for you to tell me that I'm forgiven.

-

So, Diary, apparently I fell asleep in this abandoned classroom. Yay me, it takes talent to do something so incredibly idiotic. I have a crick in my neck and detention from Filch, who found me curled up in a corner at half past two. Doesn't that man ever sleep?

No, seriously, how does he stay away. And could I borrow whatever he uses, I want to stay awake all night and not feel tired. It'll really help; I'll have so much more time to study. I don't know, maybe taking on the _Hogwarts Herald_ and OWL's was a bit too much.

Anyway, it's Sunday morning and I'm proofreading, editing, etc. I also have a mound of homework so I won't be sleeping tonight. Sara asked me where I was last night and I heard a few rumors that I'd met some guy or another. I didn't, but that doesn't matter to Howarts's rumor mill.

How did the expression rumor mill even come to be?

-

It's technically Monday morning and I have a Transfiguration essay due in a few hours. It is past curfew. So the dilemma I'm faced with is whether or not to risk breaking curfew two nights in a row to go to the library and retrieve the book I need. Oh, who am I kidding, I need that book.

-

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Not good. There's somebody in the hallway. I'm hiding in an abandoned classroom. Of course that didn't help me last night so it probably won't help me tonight, and generally I'm screwed.

Oh, thank Merlin, that isn't Filch's voice. Wait, that's Ginny's voice, and three others, two masculine, one feminine.

Ginny: How are you?

Boy 1: We're fine, don't worry. We just wanted to know if you'd found anything yet.

Other Girl: Ronald, that's not the only reason we're here. We wanted to see how you're doing.

Boy 1, aka Ronald: Yeah, but mostly-

OG: how you're doing.

Ginny: Oh, I'm fine. Actually Colin asked me to Hogsmeade, I've been thinking about going. What do you think, Harry?

Ronald: You can't go with him! Colin's creepy.

Guy I think is Harry: She's perfectly free to date whoever she wishes. It's of no concern to me.

OG: What was that?

Oh, shit, they're coming toward my classroom. The knob's turning…

-

I met Harry Potter!!! That was the Harry Potter, Ginny was talking to. Okay, calm down Corrie, don't wet yourself. I'm talking to myself in third person, is that a sign of insanity?

So the knob turned. Four figures crowded the doorway, wands drawn.

Me: I-I-It's "whomever."

OG, whose name turns out to be Hermione Granger: What?

Me: I-In-in the sentence "Sh-She's perfectly free to date," "who-whomever she wishes" is gr-grammatically correct.

Hermione: Who are you?

Ginny: That's Corrie Corwin. She transferred from the States.

Hermione: Oh, really! Is it true that-

Harry: What are you doing here?

Ronald: Where you spying on us? How much did you hear?

Me, holding up my finished report: I-I-I needed a book f-for my report.

Ronald: She's lying.

Me: N-no, I-I'm not.

Ron: Well then why are you so scared? You're st-stuttering.

Me: B-Be-becauthe I have a thpeech d-dithabitlity!

Ginny: Ron, she stutters all the time.

Ron: Oh.

Harry: Look, you've got to swear not to tell anyone what you heard here.

Me: A-ath-ath if they'd u-un-underthtand me, a-anyway.

Hermione: Please, this is serious.

Me: Cw-cwoth my heawt and hope to die.

I got several blank looks.

Me: I-I-I won't thay a wowd.

Hermione: Thank-you.

Ginny: And don't put this in the paper, either.

Ronald: Ginny, I seriously doubt she'll write the _Prophet_, or that the _Prophet_ would publish her.

Ginny: I wasn't talking about the _Prophet_; I was talking about the _Herald_.

Ron: The what?

Me: C-c-can I go now? F-F-Filch caught me last night and I d-don't want any more detentions.

Harry: Oh, sure. Sorry.

Ginny was telling them about the _Herald _when I left.

-

MS has decided to become an animagus. She convinced McGonagall and is now claiming that she saw multiple forms when she took the potion. She claims she is a unicorn, phoenix, and morning dove. I doubt it. Nobody has multiple animagus forms or magical animagus forms. MS is a morning dove. How do I know? MS always plays with a strand of hair on her left side when she lies. She and I both know this; moreover she knows I know this. She carefully tucked all the hair on her left side into a ponytail today. She never wears ponytails for fun. Thus she put her hair up so she couldn't play with it and give herself away.

I know my sister way too well. Like, right now, I have no doubt she's spilling her sob story to the headmistress in order to be allowed to bring in her pet "wolf." She's already allowed to wear her mini-skirt because she "has nothing else to wear." BS, she has tons of clothes.

Rereading this I realized something; I know my sister _way_ too well.


	3. Third Week

**A.N. Yes, I'm still alive, sorry it took so long to update. (Probably shouldn't mention I've had this saved since June.) Anyway, part of what happens in this chapter is due to my Creative Writing Teacher's comment that she should get even with her sister. So, you'll see how that goes...eventually. **

**...Remus and Tonks live; they live I tell you! **

Professor Dawlish currently thinks I'm taking notes. Yes, I'm writing to you in DADA. Feel honored, Diary, feel very honored.

So pretty soon after I stopped writing to you, there came a sign of the apocalypse. No, pigs did not fly. Well they did, but that was part of that days Charms lesson. Anyway, that's beside the point. No, Hell must have frozen over, because today at lunch MS sat down in front of me.

Her: Hi little sister! How are you today?

Me: N-n-not very well, I-I-I j-just learned I'm suicidal. I-I-I really wish people w-would keep me informed on-on stuff like this.

Her: Err, yeah, sorry about that. I was trying to tell Dean about what happened my second year, but he completely misunderstood me. I've done my best to correct it, Corrie.

I raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

Her: (_awkward pause) _Well, I just came over to say how deeply moved I was by your editorial.

Me: Y-y-you were moved b-by an editorial on why Hogwarts should teach English?

Her: What? No that whole, "Speak up and shout" nonsense.

Me: Th-that-that was last week's editorial.

Her: Oh, whatever. Look, I liked it okay; I just didn't have much time to read it before now.

My thoughts: I understand; wrecking homes takes both time and energy. Not to mention the beds she's jumped into on the side.

There was a long pause after her statement, and then she burst into tears.

Her: Oh Corrie, you don't know what it's _like_ to be me. I think everybody _hates_ me. It's such a _curse_ to be this beautiful.

And here I had always thought it was a charm.

Me, standing up: Th-th-then I recommend y-you stop it with the-the hair dye, an-an-and charms.

I walked out, leaving behind a speechless sister.

-

I've never compared potions here, with potions at Salem, have I? Professor Slughorn teaches potions here. He knew Dad. It's awkward.

Back at Salem we had Professor Willow Moonbeam. She legally changed her name at sixteen. She's a hippie. It's not "she was a hippie" because she's still a hippie. Before class we lit scented candles, to clear out the bad vibes. We'd write down our problems and leave them in a box outside the class. She was convinced that our headmaster at Salem was slipping Submission Solution into our drinks. The first thing we learned how to brew was the antidote to Submission Solution. If we wanted to experiment we were allowed to do whatever felt _right_, and to see if we could just _feel_ what the potion wanted to stay in harmony. It was all about harmony, the harmony of the ingredients. We actually learned a lot of theory that way.

Professor Slughorn teaches in the dungeons. He does not light scented candles. He needs to lose weight. He fawns over a select few, of whom, I must admit, I am included. He wants to talk about Dad.

Dad developed potions. He laid the foundation for some of Belby's research. He was really good at his job. Then one day his potion exploded and a chunk of caldron went straight at his head. He was killed instantly. MS was watching. She was four; I was two. Neither of us had any desire to go near potions for years afterward.

One of the problems with that is that both of us inherited our dad's talent. In the middle of making potions we'll get these brain waves that a sprig of peppermint here or a dash of lacewings there will improve the potion. MS has been convinced to go with these and is currently worshiped by P. Slughorn. I'm a perfectionist in potions. I do not experiment. If you want a gallon of something, I will measure it for you in drops. My first potions class the caldron behind me melted. I had a panic attack.

I hate potions and I really wish Professor Slughorn would just shut up about Dad.

I will not be attending the Slug Club meeting. He probably just wants MS there, anyway, and I need to study.

Countdown to OWL's: About 8 months. I'm doomed.

-

MS is practicing her dance in the Great Hall. She was "accidentally" discovered early one morning in a skin-tight leotard in the middle of a leap. I was wondering how long it'd take her to be "discovered."

Mom signed MS up for dance when she was three. She, MS, is now almost as good as a professional dancer. She took dancing at Salem for her Muggle Class. She knew more than the teacher. Everyone was very impressed, mostly by her tight body and incredible flexibility.

Mom signed me up for swimming when I was three. I nearly drowned. Next year we tried horseback riding lessons. MS got so jealous. We couldn't afford to continue the lessons beyond one year. Next I tried ballet dancing. I hated the tutus; they itched like nothing else. Finally, when I was six, I signed up for gymnastics. I'm not very flexible, well not as much as MS, but I'm a demon on the balance beam. Before I left for school I'd learned how to do a cartwheel on it, without falling off.

Mom was so proud.

-

We got back papers today in History of Magic. Apparently I mixed up Barcon's Rebellion, one of the last of the Giants' stand for independence, with Bacon's Rebellion, a group of small farmers who rebelled against Virginia's Royal Governor in 1676. Oops. Look, it's an easy mistake to make. Mind you, I did wonder why we were writing about Nathaniel Bacon.

So now I have to both re-write my essay tonight, and have a detention with Filch for falling asleep in that abandoned classroom. He looked strangely gleeful. I bet he's a sadist. He mentioned something about thumbscrews. I hate today.

-

I love, love, love Professor Slughorn. He asked me today if I was going to the Slug Club meeting tonight, and I responded that I had detention. He seemed surprised, which is always a nice feeling, the feeling that teachers seem to feel you're not the girl who gets detentions regularly. Anyway, he asked about why I had detention and I told him, truthfully, about falling asleep in the empty classroom. He said I didn't deserve detention and that he'd talk to Filch for me.

Professor Slughorn is awesome!

So I now have "detention" with Slughorn tonight. That was the solution. It's not bad; it basically means that it is now mandatory for me to go to the Slug Club meeting tonight. I will reiterate: I love Professor Slughorn.

-

The Slug Club was actually fun. Apparently Professor Slughorn knows several publishers at the _Daily_ _Prophet_ and he promised to get me in touch with them. More than that, he sent them a few copies of the _HH_! I'm currently doing a happy dance.

Alright so I felt a bit like a purebred dog being trotted around a ring, shown off for all to see. But, you know what, the rewards are worth it. P. Slughorn spent the night fawning over MS, yes, but still, connections with the _Prophet_, definitely worth it. Ginny was there as well; she looked uncomfortable. She said something to the effect of "at least McLaggen graduated."

MS looked right at home, but I'm not all that surprised. She's always been a purebred bitch.

-

I almost fell asleep in Transfiguration today. Instead I just vanished most of my desk. Yay me!

Professor Tonks was somewhat impressed that I could vanish most of my desk, nonverbally. What can I say, Mom always drilled us in Transfiguration; it was her specialty. Dad developed potions, Mom invented spells for Transfiguration. She'd taught a few of her secrets to MS, because MS could do magic over the summer. I'm referring, of course, to the summer after MS turned 17. So MS has wowed P. Tonks as well. Go MS!

And now I'm comparing myself to my older sister, which according to my therapist is not good for my mental health or self-esteem. I'm to remember what _I _can do well. Every time I find myself comparing myself to MS I'm to state at least two things I can do better than anyone else. I can edit better than anyone I know.

I just spent twelve minutes trying to think of the second thing.

-

Madame Pomfrey gave me a Draught of Peace between Arithmancy and Herbology just because I burst into tears because I was tired and obviously couldn't handle this, and should just be failed now. I may have also ripped up my last paper because it only got an EE.

I'm tired; I need coffee and fast.

-

So I drank five cups of coffee so that I could stay awake during Herbology, and now Herbology is over but I'm still wide awake, and so I'm going to go work on Arithmancy instead of writing run-on sentences. It's past midnight and I'm not even tired. I love coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee. Sentence fragments are bad.

Hysterical laughing is good. Volunteering to let third years practice their cute little Cheering Charms on you is bad. And by you I mean me.

-

Did you know that you are never supposed to mix large amounts of caffeine, a dose of Draught of Peace, and Cheering Charms? It creates a chemical imbalance in the brain that can land you in the hospital wing. Well, not _you _seeing as you lack a brain, but it sent me to the hospital wing after Luna found me simply laughing hysterically in front of the fire, for absolutely no reason.

-

MS is now allowed to bring Duke, her "wolf," to Hogwarts. He's not a wolf, he's a purebred Malimute if I remember correctly, but MS calls him a wolf. One of her many boyfriends gave her Duke. She's allowed to bring him as he's "part of the only family [she has left." Plus he's her "protection in this war torn world."

MS has also started animagus training. She claims she's practically a full animagus right now and is learning faster than anyone has ever learned. I don't believe her. Why?

Her left side has a strand of hair that's all messed up.

-

Duke enjoys chasing cats. He chased Mrs. Norris all around the school. Filch is currently raging about that to McGonagall.

On a side note, who is Mrs. Norris married to?

-

Sara has a sick, sick mind. I accidentally asked that last question, about who Mrs. Norris was married to, out loud.

Sara's reply: Probably Filch.

She went on, but I'll keep you unsoiled by _that_. Eww! I'll never, ever be able to look at Filch again.

Especially since I think she might be right.

Actually Abby's response to Sara's comments was the best. She danced around the dormitory screaming, "The mental images, they burn!" She made Kate and Jo crack a smile for the first time in ages.

-

If my life were a novel I'd be the throwaway foil character that makes MS look that much better by comparison. I would probably also not be awake at two in the morning working on homework. I'm not alone; actually, every other year is here; seventh years frantically preparing for their NEWT's smile sympathetically at fifth years, feverishly reviewing for their OWLS and empathizing with the third years, who are bemoaning their hard new classes and simultaneously comforting the homesick first years. Upon review I figured out that that was a very run-on sentence and this is a very random paragraph. I'm going to bed.

-

I had an interesting conversation with P. Slughorn today. He stopped me after potions to ask if I was coming to the next Slug Club meeting.

Me: S-s-sir? C-Ca-Can I ask you something?

Slughorn: Of course, Corrie, of course.

Me: W-w-why do you w-want me to-to join the Slug Club?

He looked surprised at that. S: Why ever not?

Me: I-I-I'm not half as talented a-as my sister.

S: This isn't a competition, besides you're plenty talented in your own way. I have no doubt that someday we'll all be reading some newspaper or another run by you.

Me: …Th-th-thank-you, s-s-sir.

-

Today is the third Friday in September. It's poker night! Every third Friday for as long as I can remember my family has played Texas Hold-Um, with candy betting. MS and I are pretty evenly matched. At Salem we had a whole group who would join in. Here, I'm wondering if she even remembers.

I'm up twelve sherbets. MS remembered. I'd sat down across from here this evening, getting several odd looks from the Gryffindors, and simply stuttered, "D-d-deal," while placing a deck before her. We'd each pulled out a bag of sherbets and the rest of the night had passed amiably.

There are as many different colors of sherbets as there are M&Ms. MS bets her brown sherbets first, and then mixes the rest into a colorful hand. Except the rainbow ones, those she bets as a last resort. I separate mine by color, betting first the rainbow ones (mystery flavored), next red (strawberry), purple (grape), yellow (lemon), orange (orange), green (lime), blue (blueberry), and finally the brown (chocolate) ones. I like chocolate; I hate mysteries. It works out perfectly.

As for tells, all of mine are in my voice, so I don't speak. MS used to play with the hair on the left side of her face when she bluffed, but she's learned to put her hair up. Now she bites her lip. MS is very easy to read once you know how.

Anyway the last hand I won with a pair of nines and a queen. MS was one card away from a straight. So close, but close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

We got quite a large audience and MS was teaching several Gryffindors how to play by the time we finished. I hope this doesn't become boy-infested like the Salem games.

I hope the teachers don't mind us betting. They didn't like it at Salem so in the end we split the sherbets after every game. We did that here too; I gave MS six sherbets. Hopefully they won't have a problem.

-

Saturday is normally a day for blissful relaxation, but today it is raining, yet again, which overcrowds the library and common room. It rains too bloody much in this country. (I enjoy British curse words; they don't make me feel guilty.)

Anyway, it's only three in the afternoon and I've finished all my homework. Now I just need to create an editorial, a headline, and three articles, not to mention a report for Salem. Shit, I'm doomed.

-

I have a small article on a batty house-elf named Dobby. I suppose I could turn it into an article on the evils of using slavery at Hogwarts, but it could use a lot more research to be effective. Anyway, I need to search for another couple stories.

-

P. Tonks is awesome. She gave me a comparison between working as an Auror and as a teacher. It's for an article series comparing different professions to aid the upper classes in what they wish to go into and the lower classes in what they wish to take third year. I've heard of several cases where children signed up at random, only to learn later that they weren't qualified for their choice profession.

On a side note, why is "Auror" upper case and "teacher" lower case?

-

I hate her; I hate her; I hate her! How could she do this to me? I'm her sister. That bitch, can you divorce your family because if you can I'll do whatever it takes to rid myself of her.

I'm sorry; I'm crying all over you and the ink is smearing.

I mean it's not enough that she get to wear mini-skirts that are smaller than most belts, or shirts that don't even pretend to be decent, but this just crossed the line. I thought, well I thought she still cared for me, at least a little. Shouldn't she? I'm her sister. Why does she always have to mess up my life?

I mean it's not enough that she's stolen every guy I've ever liked, that she's slept with so many guys that _my_ reputation is in tatters by association (I was the "easiest" virgin at Salem); it's not enough that she can ace anything without half trying, but now this.

I over heard her talking to a large group of people. She was pretending to stutter, in this really exaggerated manner that reminded me of Stephen Clarkes. She lisped, pronounced her "r's" as "l's;" she did everything I'm used to people doing while making fun of me. Everything that everyone's done to me in my entire life, all the time she was laughing; they were laughing. I was crying. I listened to make sure that it wasn't me jumping to conclusions, but there really isn't any jumping involved when you overhear "H-h-h-hell-hell-h-hello. M-m-m-my n-n-name is-is-is C-C-Co-Cowwie-Cowwie-wie-ie C-C-C-Cow-Cow-Cowwin-win."

I don't know how long I stood there, rooted to the spot, tears streaming down my face, their incessant laughter ringing in my ears, when Professor Sprout came along. She took one glance at me and asked what was wrong. I fled. I think she overheard MS, though, because she looked angry. Of course if she punishes MS, MS will simply think I squealed on her. And she'll make me pay.

Last time she spread rumors about me I spread a counter rumor. She went all boo-hoo upset to the headmaster, who nearly expelled me, but lucky me, my charming, distraught sister was willing to forgive me. And by forgive I mean convince the entire school population that I was a lesbian. That's part of the reason I never got dates at Salem, I was an easy, aggressive lesbian. One of the things I was looking forward to coming here was a chance to reinvent myself. Well go me, now I'm a suicidal freak.

What did I do to deserve a sister who mocks me? What is so bad about me that my own sister hates me?

And why do I care so much?

Now I'm crying again. Oh today is just so bloody perfect.

-

I just realized something. One of the problems with my spreading rumors at Salem was that I wasn't in the rumor mill. MS ran the rumor mill and could stop any rumor I made before it saw the light of day. Thus, rumors weren't effective. Here, I control the newspaper; I control the information everyone in this school receives. MS forgets, I can reinvent her just as easily as she reinvented me.

I think I have my editorial.

-

The _Herald_ is out with an emotional editorial on forbidding dogs at Hogwarts. Dukes chased thirty-three cats up trees in less than one week. Unfortunately for two cats, the tree they chose was the Whomping Willow. They're recovering after breaking almost every bone in their bodies and probably using up a life or two. MS is unrepentant and has scared the owners into not complaining to the professors. It's just too bad for her that they all read the _HH_.

Doubtless she will take this as it's meant, as a personal attack against her. Wait till she sees next week editorial on how the dress code applies to all. I mean honestly, fish-net stockings?

(Week after is questioning whether abortion should be legal. I know MS has had at least seven, and is probably due for another. I can make everyone realize I'm referencing her, without actually stating her name. Revenge is sweet.)

Bring it on, sister-dear. I'm not as mild as you seem to think.

-

History of Magic time again! Aka it's time to inform you of MS's reaction.

This morning I was hit in the back of the head by a disillusioned airplane. It uses a nonverbal spell that was common at Salem for passing notes. Anyway, what follows is the result of all this morning's breakfast.

_What the hell?_

**You shouldn't swear, MS, it's not ladylike. **

_I told you to stop calling me that._

**You also told me that the suicidal rumors were a mistake; forgive me if I'm uncertain on what to believe.**

_Har-har, Corrie, your a real riot._

_"_**Your," it ought to be "you're" as everyone with half a brain knows. Oh, sorry, you're right; I shouldn't expect you to know that then.**

_Oh just shut up! But then you could never keep that fat mouth of yours shut, could you? __Your__ such a little snitch, crying to this professor and that, can't do anything for yourself._

**Says the girl with so little inside her head that she repeats grammar mistakes on which she was just corrected. Says the girl who told the entire school I was suicidal, homosexual, slutty, and too stupid to speak. Honestly, you're telling me to keep ****my ****mouth** **shut**. **Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. I didn't have a thing with Professor Sprout overhearing you. Half the school heard you.**

_And all of the school read __you're__ attack on poor Duke. Plus, he's a __wolf__ not a dog. _

**Well the dog in the editorial was anonymous, so if Duke is actually a wolf it obviously isn't about him. But MS, really, he's no more wolf than you are a multi-animagus.**

_I'm more animagus than you._

**It's illegal to become an animagus under the age of seventeen, idiot.**

_Like you could do it anyway._

**That ****was a sentence fragment. **

_Bite me._

**No thanks, according to some new reports, whore is contagious. **

_Oh, great comeback. (Note the sarcasm.)_

**Note the sentence fragment. Besides, why on Earth would I waste my good material on you?**

_Because I'm the only person who talks to you. _

That's a sentence fragment, but I can't bring myself to care. Well, that's a lie; it's actually driving me insane. The thing is though; I have no comeback for that. Ah well, we'll see what happens at lunch. It'll be more interesting than Abby listing the "merits" of steak-and-kidney-pie. British people have weird tastes.

Hey, there are a bunch of owls outside. Huh, I wonder why. From what I can tell they're bearing letters from the Ministry. They don't look like the normal Letters of Death either.

-

There was an attack on the _Daily_ _Prophet's_ headquarters. There is no longer a _Daily Prophet_. Well, there is one; it's simply controlled by Voldemort. Freedom of press has been virtually abolished.

The thing is people are stupid; people are scared. People will believe what they read, which is right now controlled by Voldemort. Eventually he will sway them and Britain will fall.

I'm scared; I want Mom.


End file.
